


Heat of This Moment [Post-Survivor Series 2016 One Shot]

by treble_tone_stark



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Ambrolleigns - Freeform, Angst, Established Relationship, Fixing Relationships, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Survivor Series, Self-Doubt, Survivor Series 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 12:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8750638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treble_tone_stark/pseuds/treble_tone_stark
Summary: Dean Ambrose was scripted to be eliminated first. He was scripted to come out and “reunite” with his Shield brothers to feed the fans. He was not scripted to actually love those two “brothers” of his, but good thing about that is he doesn’t want to admit he does. Won’t even say it. This is a (quite lengthy) one shot following the three boys and what went down after they all left the ring. Lots of angst and misunderstandings but its a happy ending, I promise.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this idea and also posted it to my tumblr it-is-reigning-men, if you'd like to follow it for more writing stuff and also a whole lot of WWE trash and gushing over The Shield boys. Haha, hope you enjoy! Please comment your thoughts!

Roman really would’ve liked for this one to be different. He knew he was stupid to get his hopes up.

Canada. America. Europe.

What did it matter if everything he did got the same reaction anyway? Still. The crowd whooped and cheered for the triple-power bomb. Every. Time.

And that moment he’d felt it— yeah he let himself soak in every drop of that crowd’s love and excitement — as short lived as it was.

He didn’t want to be bitter. He didn’t wanna feel sad. Defeated. But he was damn human, not the Superman he pretended to be. And the fact Dean refused to make eye contact with him, even during their spot, only made things worse.

_“Roman sucks! Roman sucks!”_

The words were still ringing in his head as he rolled over, wincing while he saw Seth get hit with the RKO and get pinned in his peripheral vision. Roman rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes and cursed creative for booking him to be the last member of RAW left.

Oh yeah.

_“Let’s go SMACKDOWN! Let’s go SMACKDOWN!”_

Seth was the only thing tethering him to the fan’s good side. Now he was really alone.

Heaving himself up by the ropes, Roman stared blandly across the way at Randy and Bray. Luke Harper too, the fucker.

Roman realized he’d been getting far too many flashes of nostalgia tonight for his health. The Wyatt family and one grain of dirt from Evolution right before his eyes and a terrible ache in his spine all the while.

The match passed in a blur, and of course he wasn’t going to be the soul survivor here, and the echoing sound of the ref hitting the mat beside his head became music to his ears.

At least now the crowd was cheering.

His coal dark eyes stared up at the blaring white lights, and he let himself be pushed out of the ring by Luke Harper’s sweaty head—

‘Didn’t know he was actually part goat, or lamb or whatever the hell their mask was modeled after’ — Roman snarkily thought to himself, but felt the rest of his body roll over the apron and onto the floor.

He just wanted to go.

…

…

…

Seth was already sitting backstage, running his tingling fingertips through his wild curls of hair. He was watching the end of the match play out, and he couldn’t help but notice Roman looking particularly… down— to anyone else he might’ve looked like he always did in the ring — but they’d had enough history together for him to catch the little things in the big dog’s expressions.

He pitied him, he really did. Seth radiated self confidence, wasn’t far off his in-ring persona in real life, and genuinely felt unaffected when he used to get boos, but he knew how Roman was too. Roman was a _good_ fucking guy, and was a good fucking wrestler too, contrary to popular belief.

He deserved better than what he got.

But apart from that… he’d find Roman later, he had to talk to the other part of their very jagged jig-saw puzzle.

Seth found Dean coming out from the locker rooms, roughly rubbing a towel over his unruly mop of hair. Even though the ginger-blond was already in sight, Seth still found his feet speeding up slightly, as if he were afraid Dean would be gone in an instant. Maybe it was because he was half-expecting the lunatic to have already left.

“Dean,”

“Seth.”

The raspy voice answered back, even though the owner of it didn’t turn around.

“I’m surprised you didn’t leave yet.”

“You know me so well.” The eye roll was palpable in his voice.

“Listen, I know why you asked to be drafted to SmackDown, but Steph told me that she was thinking about getting you to RAW 'cause—”

“No, _Seth_. You knew why I asked, then you wouldn’t be trying to convince me to come back. So don’t.”

“Fine.” Seth was right beside Dean now, pulling the damp towel from where it was absently lying over the taller one’s head.

“Even if you don’t come to Raw, would you at least try picking up his damn calls? He’s fucking drowning himself, Dean, and I’m not a lifeguard—!”

“—You get a fucking perm or something?”

Seth stopped, brows furrowing.

_“What?”_

“Your hair. It’s might as well be tickling the roof of this damn building with all that volume. You need to think about gel or something because water ain’t workin’.”

Seth could practically feel his skin heating up by the second, and threw the towel he’d unknowingly been clenching onto into the wall.

“I see you haven’t changed.” Calm voice contrasting the tense fists tucked into his crossed arms, Seth stepped into Dean’s space- in front of him now.

“And I see you’ve changed plenty. Like the commentators said, You and Ro clearly 'kissed, hugged, and made up’ right? You two sharing rooms again too?”

Seth smirked over clenched teeth.

“I see you’re jealous.”

“I don’t get jealous.”

“Sure, like my hair doesn’t frizz up during matches,” It was Seth’s turn to roll his eyes.

Dean narrowed his eyes at the latter, frowning and wrinkling his nose a bit as his hair tickled the bridge of his nose.

“What’re you doing, Seth? Really.”

Seth heaved in a deep breath, wetting his lips.

“Roman… He’s… not doing good.”

“You gonna start chanting 'Roman sucks’ like those motherfuckers out there?” Dean took it the wrong way, and the blaze in his eyes only went to show how much he _did_ very much care about the powerhouse.

“No! Not like that. Mentally. Emotionally. He’s checking out and it’s gonna get him hurt.”

Dean clapped his mouth shut, listening now.

“The worst part is, I don’t even think he cares if he does.”

“Clearly, since he violated wellness policy a few months ago,”

Seth raised his fist, honest to god about to punch Ambrose, but he stopped himself— shut his eyes and spoke.

“Shut- just, shut up.” He hissed, the same way he had during spots in the ring, only this one with real emotion behind it.

Dean shook his head, rolling his jaw before pushing past Seth’s shoulder. He didn’t need any more commands.

“Dean.”

“Nah, you always said you were the smart one. You’ll figure it out.”

“Roman almost dropped a barbell on himself the other day.”

Dean’s feet stopped.

“Nobody was standing by for him?” Dean knew from all the days they used to work out together that Roman was always the first to push the limits on the amount of weights he could shove onto those bars.

“I was there. He didn’t want anybody, insisted he knew what he was doing and all that.” And he did. There had been plenty of safe days passed where nobody had had to assist the big dog in getting the bar up onto the holders to avoid being crushed or injured.

Dean turned sharply, clearing the short distance between them.

“You didn’t help him? What was he doing this time? He put even more than usual?”

Dean’s breath puffed into Seth’s face, causing Seth to brush his own locks away from his eyes.

“I said _almost_. Of course I helped him. If I hadn’t he’d of had a set of broken ribs. His mind was obviously somewhere else because even after the bar was set up again Ro hadn’t even registered he was in _danger_. He just sat up, looked around, and asked me if I could grab him another weight to add on.” The thought notably bothered Seth, if the expression smudging his face was any sign.

Dean found it hard to believe that it had gotten this bad. Sure, he hadn’t exactly checked in in awhile but… Roman was always everybody else’s rock. Not _The Rock_ , as in his cousin in-law, but the kind of person who was always that shoulder to lean on, the person who always offered a ride home even if he didn’t know the wrestler too well.

But of course… Ro had had his low points, like anybody. After Royal Rumble, Wrestlemania, and almost any big PPV where he came out on top since pursuing his solo career…. when the crowd booed even after all that time people had been wanting him to beat his adversaries before.

The three of them had always found it ironic that Roman’s fan status was constantly declining even though he seemed to have changed the least from when they were the fan favorites, together.

During these times, Dean had always been the one that was usually around for him. Roman always blamed himself. Dean never did. Dean always said he wasn’t good at comforting people too, but Roman always accepted anything he gave him — blabbing on about how he 'needed him’ how he… how he really, really liked him. Ro used another word, but Dean didn’t like using it.

That was what had made Dean run off, anyway.

Seth seemed to know just what was going through Dean’s mind— Ambrose hated how he always seemed to— and the younger man squeezed his shoulder.

“You know he forgives you, right.”

“I know. That’s what sucks.” Dean grumbled, wanting to shrug off the hand but refraining from doing so.

Long story short… Dean had cheated. Cheated on the most faithful boyfriend any one could ask for. He wasn’t drunk, he was sober as he’d ever been, and he’d went off, spent a night with Renee, and then told Roman about it two days later.

How could he do that?

Roman had already gotten divorced from a wife who’d been cheating on him during all the time he was away _making money for his family_ and only got to see his daughter when they all got holiday breaks.

Maybe he was just a dick. But he convinced himself he did it for the right reasons. Somehow the McMahons had found out about their dating situation— intuition or word of mouth, it didn’t matter— called them in to talk about it.

They didn’t want it getting out publicly. They thought it was too risky for the business’ reputation. To their reputation as wrestlers.

Dean agreed completely.

Roman, he took offense.

Of course, brave, golden-hearted Roman believed that anyone deserved to be able to be open about someone they really, really liked.

The McMahons didn’t want to offend them, Dean could tell, but Roman had been having an off day as it was and ended up storming out– Dean hot on his heels.

And so Dean cheated on him. He didn’t want to ruin Roman’s career, didn’t want to hold him back any more. In hind sight, perhaps he’d only made things worse… but Roman hadn’t done or said anything about their relationship to the public.

The two of them momentarily heard a loud slam far down the hallway.

Dean had caught movement in the corner of his eye from where he was facing down the hall, toward Seth, and Seth turned sharply behind him.

“What was that?”

“Roman. Went into the locker room.”

Dean made a move as if he was really leaving this time, only to have Seth grab hard onto his elbow.

“You need to talk to him. I’m not enough.”

“That’s funny. That ain’t what you said when you left the both of us — I remember you distinctly saying you were better than us, didn’t need us, didn’t want us —”

Seth’s grip tightened.

“You don’t- you can’t use that against me right now.”

“Really? I can’t? You’re suddenly so worried about him but you probably have no idea how he reacted when you left. We would’ve been able to accept you pursuing a solo career, we would’ve gone with it, played the cards however creative dealt em’. But you made it _personal_ , you son of a bitch.” Dean spat, eying Seth over his shoulder.

“I was stupid. Damn near regretted it as soon as I checked into that first hotel room by myself.”

“Aw. Sethie got lonely?”

Seth’s face dropped into a blank, dead pan.

“Maybe. But at least I realized how stupid I was being— how selfish. Roman took me back way too easily.”

He paused, grip unintentionally loosening and slipping down Dean’s arm slightly.

“… **At least you and Rome seemed to get by just fine without me, huh?** He probably only took me back because he was missing you…”

The fury behind his voice had left, and Dean saw the way Seth’s bottom lip jutted out, like it always did when he was sad. Dean had forgotten how cute that was.

“ **No,** ” Turning his body fully toward the slightly shorter make, the ginger-blond sighed. “ **We didn’t.** ”

Seth’s brows were furrowed while his nervously sweating palm inched down to Dean’s wrist and processed all that could be meant by those simple words contradicting his assumption.

“- Stop being a big baby and take me to Ro before I change my mind.”

There was an immediate shift in Rollins’ expression, his upset pout reverting and his mouth almost breaking into a smile rather than the line he was forcing it into.

Dean got the feeling he’d been played.

Seth had been completely honest here, but yes, the sad puppy face had been the cherry on top that he knew would solidify getting Dean to follow through.

Even so, after hearing everything he’d missed, Dean was sure he might’ve ended up visiting Roman soon enough — their paths were apparently built to cross.

The both of them walked down the hallway to the locker rooms, half holding hands - half not, and Dean found himself wanting to squeeze the latter’s hand and not let it go.

When they got to be in front of the double doors, their touching fingers separated like lightning as a couple of men filed out from the lockers. Most people had bolted right out of the arena after finishing up their respective matches, thankfully, but a few of the other men which were part of the 5 on 5 were just coming out.

AJ looked up at Seth and gave him a friendly smile - they were acquainted well enough from their handful of dark matches and random outings - and then glanced up at Dean. For a second one might of thought the two of them actually hated each other, with the suspense between their blank looks, but AJ’s firm pat on Dean’s shoulder said otherwise.

“See ya on SmackDown, kid.”

Styles always called people 'kid’ when they were backstage, even though most of them were at least 30 years old. Force of habit for the slightly older man, since he had a share of little ones back at home.

“Yeah.” Dean mumbled, feeling uncomfortable with the unspoken question of why he and Seth were just walking with each other. Speaking of which, Seth had slunk past AJ and the other man who’d emerged, Jericho, in an effort to avoid any questions as such and gone straight into the locker room himself.

The supposed SmackDown rivals’ interaction ended quickly, and AJ left him alone, while Jericho continued on with whoever he was talking to via cellphone. Dean stood in front of the doors again, taking his sweet time to scratch his beard and consider walking away too.

In his peripheral he saw Luke Harper an Bray Wyatt going off someplace backstage, probably the refreshments or to get ready to leave without cleaning up first, while Randy went off to his personal dressing room. The indication that there wouldn’t be anyone else bothering them in the locker rooms for at least a little while did nothing to ease his nerves.

His feet shuffled in place quietly, and only as he was about to look longingly down to the backdoor exit he heard the clang of a chair being knocked over and a thud.

Dean was in the room a second later.

“…too, didn’t you? Why didn’t you say something to the ref?”

Seth was knelt next to Roman, speaking in a hushed tone just for him, who was now leaning back against the open, wooden “locker” area. The fold up chair one of them must’ve been seated in was on it’s side.

Roman slowly ran a hand over his face to brush away the hair, and his eyes were downcast.

“Shane might have a concussion. Or worse.”

“Worse?” Seth caught Dean’s eye a split second, but he tried to stay focused on Roman. “You didn’t fuckin’ kill him, man. Worry about yourself first.”

“I might as well have killed him, you heard the crowd.”

“They’re stupid Canadians, they’ll get over it.”

Seth moved closer and hovered a hand over the top of the bigger male’s head; Dean squinted his eyes and took a step closer, wondering if Roman even noticed his presence with how foggy those eyes looked.

“If you need to get checked out, tell me.” Seth’s voice had a new bite to it, and he gently touched Roman’s hair to see what would happen. Dean knitted his eyebrows together at the slightly careless action, especially when he saw the obvious wince in Roman face.

He’d landed just as roughly as Shane did during the spot, probably rammed his head into the mat trying to cradle the McMahon’s body during the dangerous move. People didn’t even think about that because he didn’t get fully knocked out. They were always hungry for more reasons to hate on his man.

“I deserve it.”

Dean snapped at those sins of words coming out of Roman’s mouth.

His feet stormed over to them and he sat in front of the big dog on the floor.

“Like hell you deserve it.”

Seth blinked at the sudden appearance, and Roman’s head looked up with an expression that was nothing short of shock and… relief, oddly enough. Like he’d seen a ghost and simultaneously just witnessed the love of his life come back to life in the hospital. Those droopy, dark eyes bored straight into Dean’s sharp, blue ones and the lunatic nearly choked on his own saliva. There was a reason he had avoided eye contact before.

“Dean—”

Said man held up a finger, almost going in to press it to Roman’s mouth to quiet him, but knowing full-well any touch to those lips would’ve made him want to kiss them.

“I know something you can suck at and it sure as hell ain’t wrestling.”

It was such a drastic change in tones, but it was so incredibly _Dean_ in its comforting profanity.

In a moment broken off from reality the three of them laughed, the joke not exactly warranted but bringing up a string of memories that related to all men present.

“You’re a dumbass.” Seth sniped, but his eyes were squinted in amusement.

'Your dumbass.’ Dean thought, and bit his lip to keep the words from coming.

“…We missed you, Dean.”

Roman’s loosely closed fist rested against Dean’s thigh, but his eyes no longer insisted on keeping in contact, as if he were suddenly overwhelmed by the inability to say anything else.

Thankfully, Dean was never one for being silent.

“Missed you two… too.”

Dean had tried so hard to stay away, tried so hard to convince himself that he shouldn’t be with Roman or Seth all this time, but just seeing a broken Reigns and a worried, guilty-eyed Rollins sitting next to each other and he was right back at square one.

“— This doesn’t mean anything… you know,”

He couldn’t stop his mouth from running there, but in his mind it was all the opposite.

Because fuck if he didn’t really, really miss feeling those boys next to him when he’d force his dead weight of an aching body out of bed every early morning to go to work.

“I know.” Roman answered, and Dean hadn’t expected it said so calmly, but the way Roman kept staring at him made him feel like he was already figured out.

A period of peaceful quiet passed, and in the short seconds The Architect had already worked up a plan in his mind. Seth picked up the knocked over chair and set it right where he’d been sitting by Roman. A hair tie seemed to phase out of nothing at all, and Seth’s hands were in Roman’s long dark locks, pulling it back into a loose bun.

“Ow,” Roman said reflexively, his head only a little tender, and wiggles his head slightly in dissatisfaction of the messy bun he knew did not live up to his standards of pristine, slicked back man-buns.

Dean scowled at Seth for that move, and knew just as well Seth had to be thinking something.

“Dean, you know anything that would help get rid of head pains?”

Oh, Dean had something to get rid of almost any pain with his years in CZW under his belt.

He made a noise that said yes.

Roman was looking between them with skeptical eyes.

“Good. Then let’s head back to the hotel.”

The ginger-blond arched his brows at the fluffy haired man and suddenly felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into a hole he wasn’t about to get out of now. Seth Rollins was holding the shovel.

“You don’t have to come with us if you don’t want,” Roman tried to console, although he was likely the one in the worst shape across the board, he was still trying to baby him. If it was based purely on personality, one would probably make the big man out to be a freakin’ sub.

In this case, it was just the fact that Roman didn’t really know if this really meant Dean wanted to be _with_ them again or if he was just with them as a friend. It was too soon to say, even as optimistic as he’d like to be.

Seth hoisted Roman to his feet before going to his bag which was in the slot beside Roman’s to grab a clean sweatshirt to pull over his head. Apparently he didn’t care to change out of his in-ring pants.

Rollins zipped up his own duffle bag and glanced at Roman’s back fleetingly before kneeling down to the taller male’s luggage as well.

Dean watched curiously and was slightly mesmerized by the severe … domestic quality of Seth’s actions, and Roman had actually seen it, since he was rubbing his eyes of exhaustion. Dean wanted to force him to lie down, but there wasn’t exactly any comfortable quarters here— though that hadn’t stopped any of them in the past from finding private spaces after matches to … 'let off some steam’. That wasn’t what should be on his mind but it just popped in there anyway.

Dirty thoughts weren’t exactly unwarranted, either, with Seth wrapping his arms around Roman’s torso, undoing the straps on the sides of his vest. Roman’s eyes widened and his arm raised to let Seth get in closer reflexively.

“What’re you doing ?”

“Undressing you. Unless you want to leave the arena with your gear on.”

“You have your gear on.”

“Mine’s more comfortable than your’s.”

Though he didn’t seem to like it, Roman also didn’t seem to have the will to push Seth off; they were dating, anyway. And maybe, just maybe, he liked the feeling of having Dean there to watch.

And Dean was watching— most definitely watching— pretending not to be by leaning against the wall and clamping his lips together.

When the ginger-blond looked up fully Roman had the vest off completely, Seth shoving it into the bag; Dean’s heart picked up because he hadn’t seen Roman shirtless for months and he didn’t realize how much he missed being one of the few who got to see him that way for extended periods of time (even throughout the night).

His eyes wandered up across the broad chest before flickering to meet Ro’s eyes, which were on him too.

Shit.

Roman smirked subtly, and was slow to roll his grey, Hit Hard Hit Often shirt over his body.

“So you hitching a ride with us?” Roman uttered, and Dean tilted his head. Before he said a thing, Seth slung an arm over Roman’s shoulder, muscles flexing slightly under his sweatshirt.

“No no no no, you can’t drive, Rome.”

Roman made a face.

Dean squinted at Seth, mouth crooked.

“And _you’re_ gonna drive? You nearly got us all killed last time we were in a car with you.”

The Architect rolled his eyes, patting Roman on the back warmly before picking up both of their bags and bolting toward the double doors. Roman tried in vain to take his own bag, but Seth insisted and was much to quick for his own good.

“I knew you’d say that, good thing you’re here then, huh, Deano?” Seth laughed that obnoxious laugh as he bumped the doors open with his ass to look at the other two men.

Roman and Dean exchanged a brief, understanding but apprehensive look, but followed after Seth nonetheless. If they didn’t he would’ve came back.

The black cars that were always rented out for the Superstars were waiting behind the building and Seth was already throwing the bags into the trunk. Dean had nearly forgotten his own backpack from rushing out after the damn guy, but thankfully Roman had stopped in the doorway and wordlessly gestured to Dean’s pack which was on the other end of the locker rooms.

Of course Roman still knew what that looked like— and he must’ve figured Dean wasn’t the type to buy a new one.

The trunk was left open and Seth went to open the side door, but Roman was behind him in an instant after some wide strides.

“Nah, you can ride shot gun. You always complain about not being up front.”

Seth didn’t need to be asked twice, and climbed into the front passenger seat with a not so subtle grin of satisfaction. Dean put his stuff in the back and huffed out a laugh against his will at the small moment. When the trunk door clicked closed it was as though a contract had been signed.

…

The ride back to the hotel was somewhat uneventful— shocking as that might be. It was mostly due to the music which Dean immediately started blazing, some classic rock station he found after flipping through a couple; Seth made some snarky remark about how he’d prefer some harder rock but didn’t bother changing it, since they weren’t exactly in an area that would have one of _his_ kind of stations.

Roman sat quietly in the back, head leaned back onto the seat and eyes closed, as if he were asleep.

Seth reached out to touch Dean’s cheek, his other arm propped on the arm rest.

“Woah-” Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel at the sudden warm fingered touch on his scruff.

“You trying to make me crash the car?”

“No,” Seth rubbed a thumb over the latter’s jawline experimentally, his eyes half lidded as if he were only half awake.

“I was just thinking you should shave.”

The hand dropped and returned to its owner’s thigh.

Dean spared a look at his right hand man (at the moment) before the light turned green again.

“Why?”

“Cause I can’t see your dimples anymore. I don’t think you’re doing what’s-”

“- Best for business?” Dean finished, half bitter and half joking.

“I was gonna say what’s gonna keep your fans happy.”

Dean scowled because he remembered that one time Seth had ventured into one of those fan sites where the girls wrote crazy things about them—  it was near when they had first debuted as The Shield, and Seth had never searched himself again since then. The scariest part was that the 'fantasy pairings’ they had for their group were, at the time, not incorrect. The stories they wrote, maybe a little far fetched, but the core of them was too close for comfort.

“Well if that was the case then one of the bosses would’ve told me to shave it. Until then it ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

He knew Seth was probably pouting again. At least internally.

“It was just a suggestion from a man who knows what the fan’s like.” Seth was looking at his full reflection in the window, rubbing his own facial hair contentedly. Dean pressed the button behind the car wheel and opened Seth’s window so that he got a gust of cold wind right in his face.

“Bitch-!”

“The baddest.”

A bit more time passed, Seth genuinely irked while he wiped tiny flecks of snow from his beard, and Dean finally finding some peace behind the AC/DC playing from the speakers and the heaters finally kicking in.

It was like he’d forgotten the fight they almost had in the hallway— that and all the fights before and all the drama with Roman in between.

Yet he still felt he didn’t belong with either of them.

No.

He still felt he didn’t make the cut to be with either of them. Still. And he had no idea why he couldn’t just take what the both of them were so obviously trying to give back to him.

The lunatic fringe, for a brief moment, began considering a possibility that they’d actually let him go with how calm this ride was, but then Roman was suddenly not so asleep.

“Hey,” Roman’s voice was somehow even huskier than normal, perhaps he actually had dozed.

After a moment, “What?”

**“Are you still seeing Renee..?”**

The warmth of the car heaters felt useless then, because Dean froze on the spot for what felt like a lot longer than the few seconds it actually was.

“ **No,”**

Since he was already talking that answer didn’t seem sufficient.

**“Not since then. Only time I see her is during interviews.”**

They passed a couple more lights.

“…Good. That’s good to hear.” Roman smiled slightly to himself, and felt as though that simple fact made everything else feel a little more alright. Dean could’ve left awhile ago but he’s driving them back to the hotel— that had to mean he still cared.

The driver felt like his throat had gotten smaller because swallowing seemed strenuous now as he tightened his grip on the wheel. How could Roman be so forgiving ?

The ride back was still at least twenty minutes strong, and that was if the traffic stayed moderate as it was. In the meantime Roman did actually fall asleep and wasn’t so much faking it this time.

“What’s wrong with him, huh?” Seth muttered, like he was afraid Roman would still hear.

“He’s stupid enough to like us.”

Seth said the other four lettered L word in his head as a correction.

 **“…us.”** He repeated aloud, however, echoing the driver who had his blue eyes set firmly ahead.

…

When they woke Roman up in the back he immediately made a tiny complaint about his head throbbing even worse now - you know that feeling of waking up after only sleeping for a brief 10 minutes - and it turned out Seth had made a nose dive for Roman’s bag, determined to carry it for him at least for tonight, but left his own bag and Dean’s alone.

“You can carry your own stuff and mine for opening the window on me.”

And he looked at Roman again, giving him his signature slanted smile.

“C'mon, big dog.”

Dean slung his backpack onto his shoulders while he watched Seth begin strutting off. He well expected Roman to be close behind the Architect but instead found the powerhouse peering around the side of the car at his face.

“How much you want me to just leave his bag in here just to see him run all the way back down to get it before some fan steals it?” Dean joked. Well, he wasn’t really joking, but that was aside the point.

“I’d love to see that as much as you but I don’t wanna see baby boy go tumbling down the stairs in his rampage.” And he chuckled, rubbing his arm through his leather hoodie jacket.

 _Baby boy_.

Dean hadn’t heard that one in awhile. And not directed at Seth, definitely; before then it was a normal thing that Roman had nearly slipped up on saying in interviews several times.

He wasn’t sure why but hearing it only made him more set on leaving the bag in the trunk.

So he did, smirking a little in satisfaction.

Roman sighed, and only that slightly disappointed expression actually made Dean feel guilty.

He began walking in the direction Seth had disappeared, again, expecting Roman to follow as well, but when the other did appear next to him he was holding the bag he had just had the dilemma over.

Dean frowned and instinctively reached to grab the bag then, feeling horrible now that he had inadvertently made the injured person do work. I mean it wasn’t extremely strenuous but -

“No, you don’t have to. I hit my head I didn’t break anything.”

“The way you say that worries me. And I’ve had a fair share of broken bones.” Dean let Roman have it, but that didn’t change the fact that he wanted the latter to worry more about himself - especially when it came to head injuries. Hypocritical, coming from him, but it didn’t change his mind.

When they got to the automatic doors of the hotel Dean just thought how Seth would probably give him shit about having Roman with his bag, probably something along the lines of: The hell kind of person makes the injured man carry bags ?

Or something worse in vocabulary.

Turned out Seth was waiting for them by the elevators.

Immediately he gave Dean a scowl when he saw the whole picture.

“The hell? Why’re making Ro carry it?”

“I was gonna leave it for the hobos outside but _you’re lucky_ you got a good boyfriend.” Dean’s voice snapped, and he was sure he could feel anger bubbling in his chest.

Seth pressed the elevator button.

“Yeah, I am.”

Fed up with trying to get Dean to play nice, and just wanting to go to their room, Seth let Dean brood on that fact for himself. The three of them piled into the elevator and thanked god it was late enough that nobody else was hanging in the lobby, at least not at that moment. Who knows what sort of pictures or articles would have resulted from spotting the three of them together again.

They went up to the fourth floor, where the RAW roster was mostly located. SmackDown booked the floor directly above.

The three of them walked down the long hallway until Seth abruptly stopped and yanked out a keycard.

A small click.

Upon opening the door Dean was able to see that the room was well lived in— the beds were unmade but only because the 'Do Not Disturb’ sign had been left hanging on the door handle outside, there were a few typical hotel towels lying on the floor by one of the beds, and on the desk table beside the television stand there was a six pack of beers that only had one bottle removed.

Looking again Dean realized one bed had disheveled looking sheets but all the pillows were on the other bed. Clearly only one of them had actually been slept in.

The ginger-blond had seen the same sight when he would wake up more than enough times to get the picture— and what’s more he knew Seth was the one that had gotten them all in the habit of needing too many pillows. Seth had always hoarded them onto whichever bed they’d all squish themselves onto, because he insisted it was good to keep their heads elevated.

Dean was sure it was just because Seth liked being coddled and was used to hugging pillows when he was younger or something.

He always clung onto them after squishing his face into the plush articles, after all, like they were teddy bears.

In the midst of his thoughts, Roman’s wide body landed on the very bed he’d been pondering over, the springs of it creaking under the weight. The loose bun that Seth had put it in gave out, and Roman lazily pulled the hair tie from the slight tangles as he put his other hand over his face.

“Stop standing there like a homeless mannequin and help me get some stuff for Roman.” Seth called, all their bags discarded against the dresser.

Dean spared a look at Roman, who briefly peeked through the spaces of his fingers, before walking to the bathroom where he could hear Seth rummaging through the cabinet.

“Do you have any pain killers on you? I only got prescriptions and cheap cold medicine…” Seth seemed more than annoyed, even if he’d only been looking for about a minute at most.

“Anything I have would probably only be as good as what ya got.”

Seth held out the orange pill bottle that he had.

It was this prescription drug that was for extreme pain, and it had been given to him when he’d bruised his ribs after one of the matches with KO; the doctor had given it to him the last few months of his knee rehabilitation as well, since Seth was always trying to work as hard as his boy would let him.

Dean recoiled from the bottle because he knew that stuff was way too strong for this, and for someone not used to taking it it would likely knock them out for a good little while. As much as he wanted Roman to rest more, he didn’t want him taking what he didn’t need either.

“Mhm.” Seth could tell Dean knew what it was, and put it back in its place.

He also pushed past Dean, glanced around the doorway at Roman, who looked like he’d fallen asleep _again_ which was quite concerning. He closed the bathroom door and turned back to the current odd ball.

“Are you gonna start actually helping anytime soon?”

Dean’s mouth hitched down at the corners.

“I’m trying, but you’re not exactly being so hospitable.”

“I don’t mean just with this. When are you gonna stop trying to run away?”

So they were back to this again.

“I came all the way here didn’t I? If I was trying to run away I would’ve been locked in my hotel room an hour ago.”

Seth stepped closer.

“Just being in the room doesn’t mean anything. Won’t mean a thing till you admit it.”

“Admit what,” Dean replied, hardly noticing the space between them was dwindling again.

“You’re jealous. You ducked it back at the arena, but you got all hissy about Roman being my boyfriend downstairs. **_My_** boyfriend. That bother you, Dean?”

Another step closer.

This bathroom was really not that big at all.

“No,” And he was lying through his teeth. It wasn’t that he was jealous.

But it was.

It wasn’t that he wanted Roman to himself.

He really didn’t.

“It bother you that we’re rooming together again? It seemed like it did earlier.”

Another step.

“It bother you that you _know_ why the beds look like that?”

A glance down at Dean’s parted lips that are quivering ever so slightly; a movement that would only be seen from this close.

Dean knew his next words were important — crucial even — but when his mind darted into the dark territories of imaging what the two of them had done without him the past few months, he couldn’t say words.

The image of Roman’s lips on Seth’s.

The image of Seth running his fingers through Roman’s hair.

The image of the two of them climbing breathless into the clean bed after letting off some steam.

The image of Roman embracing Seth with shaking hands after Seth apologized and explained all of his actions.

The simple image of Seth pulling Roman’s hair into that messy bun and seeing the reaction of dissatisfaction crossing the big man’s face due to it, but the way he didn’t bother adjust it just because _Seth_ did it for him because he wanted to take care of him.

No, Dean couldn’t say words. He could only say,

**“Yes.“**

Yes, all of those things bothered him. All those things had slowly been making his blood boil because he knows just as well what should be different about all those pictures.

He should have been in all of them.

The three of them.

Seth closed the space between them, his own body pushing Dean against the edge of the bathroom sink; his strong hands touched the back of his neck and pulled him to his face— their lips touched for the first time in nearly three years but it felt like they never left.

Whenever there was a moment when either of them had the urge to pull back for a breath Seth only pressed his mouth closer, one of his hands raking through the short length of Dean’s beard, getting accustomed to the foreign feeling of it.

Their breathes became harsher through their noses as the moments passed by, until finally they had to break.

Even with their lips separated they could feel the warmth lingering there — and didn’t let go of each other. Dean’s hands had fisted slightly in Seth’s shirt and gripped at his waist.

"Maybe your beard isn’t so bad.”

Seth huffed out, their foreheads touching.

“…Yeah?”

“It gives me something else to grab onto you by.” His thumb rubbed against it again.

“- But I still wanna see your dimples more.”

Dean’s wet lips actually formed into a ghost of a smile.

He wanted to kiss him again.

He wanted to kiss _Roman_ , too.

He wished there were two of him just so he could feel both of their lips against his own at the same time.

As he unintentionally leaned closer to Seth in his daze, Seth stepped back and pulled Dean’s hands off of him.

Seth dragged his eyes over Dean another time because he could spot every single little difference about him since they’d last been together - on a relationship - but he didn’t need to stare too long now because… because he felt like he’d be seeing more of him now.

“Well,”

A slightly awkward pause.

“Now that _we’ve_ kissed and made up, do you think you have the balls to make it up to our Big Dog?” Seth’s voice was low, trying to be casual with something that was really not at all.

Dean wasn’t kidding himself— as much as he was feeling the emotions that he’d been pushing aside come leaking out like a broken dam, he couldn’t help the sick feeling rising up again.

Seth and him still had a lot of catching up to do themselves. This was just -

“Talk to him before I have to jump your ass and kiss it out of you.”

The thought of letting it happen was tempting, but Dean had a resolve now, and all that mattered was redeeming himself to Roman.

Roman. The poor man that had already suffered so much— that strong soul that had slowly been withering away at every blow— that guy that Dean realized, completely, that he lov—

The bathroom door opened in a quick motion, and Dean walked to where Roman was still lying still. His thoughts were spinning, and if he let them keep going he’d end up doing something stupid.

So he sat on the edge of the bed, slowly scooting up till he was aligned with Roman’s slowly rising chest.

Seth shut the bathroom door silently, taking soft steps to them but keeping a certain distance.

“…Ro.” His voice nearly cracked, and he swallowed to get some moisture back in his mouth he hadn’t realized got dry.

“Roman, I…”

“Don’t apologize.”

The reply startled him, and his hand gripped tightly to the bed; he felt the sheets shift in his hand as Roman sat up heavily, eyes opening slowly and settling on Dean’s hand.

**“I have to apologize.”**

“No, I know why you did it.” Roman started smiling slightly, but his eyes stayed on Dean’s hand.

“Even if you think you do, let me say it.”

Silence.

“I… I didn’t want you to give anything up for me.” Dean felt his heart beating against his ribs uncomfortably.

“I didn’t want you to ruin your career because you wanted to be with me, I didn’t want you to be with someone who was bound to hurt you— so I wanted you to hate me before I left. I wanted it clean cut. Fresh start.”

Dean had no idea where he was going with this.

“And when you said—”

 **“I love you.”** Roman said, voice fully alert and meaning every syllable.

Dean trembled, shutting his eyes.

“When you said that I thought about all of it. I thought about us. Being together forever.” He felt like he wanted to hyperventilate or something.

But then Roman’s hand was on his, forcing its way to thread through Dean’s fingers— not roughly but just enough to get Dean to stop strangling the bed sheets— and Seth’s hand was gently resting on the part of his back between his shoulder blades.

“…But I thought about Seth, too. How could we be together, just the two of us? I knew you were missing him— I  know you were— and I was missing him… and I thought that everything was just a sign that I didn’t deserve either of you.”

He was always a talker, but this - this was relentless, and he couldn’t stop the words now.

“So I left you because I didn’t wanna be broken like that. Thought it was best we all just go our separate ways if that was where we were going anyway—” His voice was gruffer now, and he took deep breathes.

“But I was… wrong,”

Seth’s chin pressed into Dean’s shoulder at that.

“I’ve been waiting ages for you to admit that to anything.”

Anxiety had been rising through out Dean’s veins, since Roman had just been staring and listening, like he always did so well, only this time he wished Roman would speak up— Seth’s snarky remark only made his heated skin ignite more, and he turned to Seth angrily for ruining the moment. If there was any moment, dear god —

“And _you_ — you’re no fuckin’ Saint.”

“Get mad at me later.” Seth pushed Dean’s face away from where it was inches away from his with three fingers.

And perhaps the moment wasn’t ruined at all.

Roman’s hand locked around Dean’s, and his solemn looking eyes trailed back up to his. Finally, he spoke back.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you two kissed just before.”

Dean’s eyes widened slightly, not expecting that answer to all he’d just said, and also having assumed Roman wasn’t the Superman that could see through walls.

“That’s fine,”

Roman pulled Dean by the hand, urging him closer on the bed.

“If I get a kiss too.”

And Dean hadn’t been so happy to be obedient in his entire life; because he was never obedient. Not to anyone.

Except maybe either of the two in the room at the moment.

He kept the hand that was entwined with Roman’s where it was, resting on the bed beside Roman’s hip, but used his other to pull himself up by the latter’s muscled shoulder.

Blue eyes flickered to that gorgeous, slanted mouth before leaning in hungrily to take them with his own. It hadn’t been as long as with Seth, but it certainly felt like it— especially when he felt the familiar hand pull his slender waist tight against him.

It was nice to know Roman was just as eager in this.

And why wouldn’t he be? Roman felt the pain in his skull melt away into that kiss— the slight messiness to it was welcomed, worshiped because it showed that neither side of the sort of dance was insecure or trying too hard, they were just kissing. Lips meshing together like they weren’t supposed to come apart, and the tips of their tongues gently tasting. Just putting their all into a simple gesture, and sure, sometimes it got a little more intense but that wasn’t where Roman wanted to rush to.

Not yet.

So Roman slid the hand from Dean’s waist and used it to gently pull Dean away with a gentle grip on his arm.  

The lunatic was only slightly annoyed at the fact he kept being pushed back. He _wanted_ more, damnit. But he was always like that when it came to their private affairs, and this situation was so odd and unexpected that all his nerves and needs were riding on some dangerous edge already. Luckily, he was accustomed to rushes of adrenaline, and could still form proper sentences- even if his next question seemed strange in his head.

“How’d you know we kissed?”

Only he hadn’t said the question — Seth had beat him to the punch, somehow nearly capturing his exact wording in whatever invisible thought cloud was floating over head.

Dean could feel the weight of Seth’s body leaning onto his back, effectively sandwiching him between the two in some not-so-subtle gesture of possession; an unspoken sign that they were not going to let go this time, and that it was a fact written in the books.

“I heard Dean moan.”

The warmth of the double ended hug flushed right into Dean’s cheeks, and he felt a blush creep over his skin that he’d only felt maybe three times in his life.

“And I’m pretty sure I heard Seth manhandling you in there, because something crashed into the floor that I’m sure we’ll have to pay for when we check out.”

Thinking back again Dean recalled there being a hairdryer on the sink- unplugged and well-beaten up; he knew what it looked like because it was the same one Seth always carried from place to place but never brought to arenas because he thought someone would find it (make fun of him) or steal it- crazy as that sounded. He apparently had complete faith in 'Do Not Disturb’ signs as well, if he left a 'precious item’ in hotel rooms.

In that moment neither of them had heard or realized the death of the hairdryer, and somehow it still didn’t matter. Well, Seth probably cared a little more than he did.

“ _Shit.”_ Seth hissed, his breath felt against the back of Dean’s neck.

“Don’t worry, it didn’t belong to the hotel,” Dean mumbled, at some point, he didn’t recall when, lying on Roman’s shoulder.

“Oh, okay.” Roman’s beard nuzzled into the curls of Dean’s lighter hair.

This time the silence wasn’t so awkward. In fact, it wasn’t really silent at all— maybe it never was with them.

In the quiet of the open room, every little shift in position was heard, breaking any semblance of silence. Every adjust, every skim of fingers over backs or arms or hands, every breath that seemed to come down from nervous panting into a steady rhythm that all three of them could fall into sync with— and it was like they were back at the 2012 Survivor Series.

They didn’t speak that day, not when they were about to rush in for their big debut at least, but they were in sync. Their hearts were rushing, then calmed after the deed was done and the crowd erupted into confused cheers. They all looked around the crowd, just as excited, but ultimately found each other amongst the chaos— they still had their game faces on, but their eyes were speaking to one another on some other plane. Right now was just the same, but different, too, and in their quiet movements on the ever-shrinking bed space, they’d somehow all ended up sitting up, looking between each other in their small triangle.

They smiled.

For just a little while, everything else was gone.

The memory of the crowd’s loud voices around them at 2012’s Survivor Series. **Just a distant background noise.**

The heartbreak of Seth stabbing them in the back in his dreams to fly solo. **Just a dull ache.**

The gut-wrenching night spent telling Roman how Dean cheated and didn’t wanna be together any more. **Just a 'shit happens’ sort of deal.**

The relentless boos and hate from 'fans’ at Roman, tonight and many other nights before. **_Fuck em._**

Right now, nothing mattered. None of their extreme bumps in the road had flipped their car over, and even if they’d all gone and taken branching paths for a little while, they’d ultimately ended up right here. Together. They’d work things out later, catch up for all the lost time in between, but right now…

**“I love you, babe.”**

Roman missed calling Dean that.

**“I love you, Baby Boy.”**

Roman relished being able to say that again, too.

Both his large hands were stuck on both men’s knees, and he waited patiently.

Seth smirked at the nickname, proud to know that only he got to be called that.

 **“Love ya, Rome.”** He said softly, like he was embarrassed at the gushiness of the entire ordeal, but refused not to say it.

Dean expected the urge to jump off the bed and bolt out of the room to arise again, but he realized that the bed was an island in the middle of the ocean— if he left it he’d be lost and never come up to the surface.

So he breathed in deeply, savoring the shared air on their island.

**“…I love you, too.”**

It was his first time, and he needed practice— so he held tightly onto both of their wrists. Said it again.

“I **_love_** you **_two_**. Both of you. Damnit.”

Roman swore he could feel the back of his eyes get hot, and the tears crowding at the corners; he was unabashed, didn’t care if he was childish or being some big man baby for getting teary— his arms came up and pulled Seth and Dean in, enveloping them in a bear hug. Needless to say maybe he wasn’t the only one tearing up— but he sure as hell was the only one that would ever admit it.

All six of their arms clutched desperately at whatever they could find - clothing, arms, or hair alike - and hugged each other as tight as they could. If it were anyone else they might’ve suffocated.

“We know.” Roman whispered, for him and for Seth, and they all knew there would be plenty more 'I love you’s’ to come. This was all they needed in this moment.

When they all pulled apart, it was sort of like peeling two pieces of paper apart that had just been glued a few seconds ago— they didn’t wanna have to do it, but it was just so they could straighten things out. They couldn’t just hug forever, but that didn’t mean they were ever going to run away from this.

“It’s too bad though,”

Dean and Seth looked curiously at Roman, who was trying to subtly rub at his eyes and pass it off as simply brushing hair out of his face.

“What is?” Dean asked, about to get nervous again.

“I dunno if this is gonna work since you already have a new boyfriend. _Ellsworth_ , was it?” And the concerned, furrowed brow expression on the big man’s face smoothly transitioned into a coy, laughing grin.

Seth’s brows perked up as he snorted.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot you didn’t like men with chins anymore, I guess we’ll have to let you go.”

But they never would.

Dean bit his own mouth and growled, rolling his body to the side to get off the bed. He put his hands up in surrender as he stood fully, back to them.

“ _Fine!_ I guess I just gotta go back to my little buddy on SmackDown and forget all this ever happened,”

Seth bounced to the edge of the bed, standing on his knees and grappling Dean into a playful choke hold— he wrestled him back onto the bed before smoothly getting off of him to lie right beside him in a pose that vaguely resembled Rose as a 'French girl.’

Dean panted out, more out of breath then than he would be at the end of any fifteen minute match.

Not to mention Roman was still there, too.

Said man’s hands pinned his wrists down on the pillows just above his head, and his shadow hovered over his torso.

“1,” Roman planted a chaste kiss on Dean’s open mouth.

“2,” Seth kissed the corner of Dean’s lips.

“3,” Roman tilted his head to let Seth lean up and lay one on him, too.

Dean watched fondly as the two of them briefly locked lips, Seth being a little shit and giving the taller male a nip on the lower lip and tugging it slightly before leaning back to where he was posing.

 _“Ding ding.”_ Dean mimicked the sound of the bells, grinning a dimpled smile that was only partially obscured by his beard. Roman let go of his wrists and plopped down in the slight space left on the other side of Dean.

“You two still gotta take care of me in the mornin,” Roman sighed tiredly, only now starting to feel pain again, now that they were all settled.

Seth draped his arm over Dean’s waist, cuddling him.

“We know.” They answered.

So maybe their Shield Reunion wouldn’t just be at this Survivor Series, 2016 —

**Maybe their Shield Reunion would be a forever sort of thing.**

No.

~~Not maybe.~~

**Definitely.**

So Roman reached over the both of them to turn off the lamp between the pair of beds.

“…Goodnight.”

 

 


End file.
